Doctor Sleep: A Novel

them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    THAT WHICH WAS FORGOTTEN
    1
    The moment Dan closed his phone, Dave said, “Let’s pick up Lucy and go get her.”
    Dan shook his head. “She says they’re okay, and I believe her.”
    “She’s been drugged, though,” John said. “Her judgment might not be the best right now.”
    “She was clear enough to help me take care of the one she calls the Crow,” Dan said, “and I trust her on this. Let them sleep off whatever the bastard drugged them with. We have other things to do. Important things. You’ve got to trust me a little here. You’ll be with your daughter soon enough, David. For the moment, though, listen to me carefully. We’re going to drop you off at your grandmother-in-law’s place. You’re going to bring your wife to the hospital.”
    “I don’t know if she’ll believe me when I tell her what happened today. I don’t know how convincing I can be when I hardly believe it myself.”
    “Tell her the story has to wait until we’re all together. And that includes Abra’s momo.”
    “I doubt if they’ll let you in to see her.” Dave glanced at his watch. “Visiting hours are long over, and she’s very ill.”
    “Floor staff doesn’t pay much attention to the visiting rules when patients are near the end,” Dan said.
    Dave looked at John, who shrugged. “The man works in a hospice. I think you can trust him on that.”
    “She may not even be conscious,” Dave said.
    “Let’s worry about one thing at a time.”
    “What does Chetta have to do with this, anyway? She doesn’t know anything about it!”
    Dan said, “I’m pretty sure she knows more than you think.”
    2
    They dropped Dave off at the condo on Marlborough Street and watched from the curb as he mounted the steps and rang one of the bells.
    “He looks like a little kid who knows he’s going to the woodshed for a pants-down butt whippin,” John said. “This is going to strain the hell out of his marriage, no matter how it turns out.”
    “When a natural disaster happens, no one’s to blame.”
    “Try to make Lucy Stone see that. She’s going to think, ‘You left your daughter alone and a crazy guy snatched her.’ On some level, she’s always going to think it.”
    “Abra might change her mind about that. As for today, we did what we could, and so far we’re not doing too badly.”
    “But it’s not over.”
    “Not by a long shot.”
    Dave was ringing the bell again and peering into the little lobby when the elevator opened and Lucy Stone came rushing out. Her face was strained and pale. Dave started to talk as soon as she opened the door. So did she. Lucy pulled him in— yanked him in—by both arms.
    “Ah, man,” John said softly. “That reminds me of too many nights when I rolled in drunk at three in the morning.”
    “Either he’ll convince her or he won’t,” Dan said. “We’ve got other business.”
    3
    Dan Torrance and John Dalton arrived at Massachusetts General Hospital shortly after ten thirty. It was slack tide on the intensive care floor. A deflating helium balloon with FEEL BETTER SOON printed on it in particolored letters drifted halfheartedly along the hallway ceiling, casting a jellyfish shadow. Dan approached the nurses’ station, identified himself as a staffer at the hospice to which Ms. Reynolds was scheduled to be moved, showed his Helen Rivington House ID, and introduced John Dalton as the family doctor (a stretch, but not an actual lie).
    “We need to assess her condition prior to the transfer,” Dan said, “and two family members have asked to be present. They are Ms. Reynolds’s granddaughter and her granddaughter’s husband. I’m sorry about the lateness of the hour, but it was unavoidable. They’ll be here shortly.”
    “I’ve met the Stones,” the head nurse said. “They’re lovely people. Lucy in particular has been very attentive to her gran. Concetta’s special. I’ve been reading her poems, and they’re wonderful. But if you’re expecting any input from her, gentlemen, you’re going to be disappointed. She’s slipped into a coma.”
    We’ll see about that, Dan thought.
    “And . . .” The nurse looked at John doubtfully. “Well . . . it’s really not my place to say . . .”
    “Go on,” John said. “I’ve never met a head nurse who didn’t know what the score was.”
    She smiled at him, then turned her attention back to Dan. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the Rivington hospice, but I doubt very much if